


How You Remind Me

by zabjade



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: After the events of Hell Bound, Fred calls Buffy, bringing her to L.A. to be reunited with Spike. Once he’s made corporeal, Buffy helps him adjust to having a body again, and to the wants and desires of the flesh.Banner made by the amazingly talentedMyrabeth
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

Fred stared at her office door for a long moment after Spike sauntered out of it. He’d seemed pretty accepting about the whole still stuck as a ghost thing, but she’d come to know him fairly well in the short time since he’d come out of the amulet. He’d learned a few new tricks, and yeah, there were worse things than being a ghost, but she knew he had to be devastated.

All that fear and confusion since being brought back and then having to deal with Pavayne doing who knew what to try to force him into hell. A place that she was convinced he didn’t belong. He didn’t deserve the limbo of ghostiness either, but that’s where he was, and he’d asked her not to try anything else. Not that there was much else she really _could_ try.

And that left Spike as he was. What they were all calling a ghost, even though he didn’t match the specifications of one. At least things had gotten a little better for him, even though Pavayne had been the one brought back to being solid instead of him.

He could influence things on the physical plane a bit, now. So that was one thing he’d gained from it all. Of course, he still didn’t have his sense of touch. Or smell. Or taste. Just sight and sound. It had to be a type of hell all on its own, really. But he’d given up his chance to be corporeal again to save her, and now he was putting on a happy face about everything so she wouldn’t feel as bad.

He really was worth saving, no matter what the others seemed to think. It was too bad there was nothing she could really do for him. Except… maybe there was. Fred bit her lip, conflicted over what had just occurred to her. He hadn’t said anything about it lately, but she remembered when Spike used to ask all the time if someone could call Buffy for him. Fred had followed the party line there, thinking that Angel had to be right.

But the man she’d come to know wasn’t the monster Angel had been telling them about. Angel may have saved her, been her hero in her darkest time, but that didn’t make him infallible. And according to both Wes and Cordy – her heart ached at the memory of her friend, still in a coma in the medical ward – their boss wasn’t always a clear thinker when it came to Buffy. Maybe he was wrong and she’d actually want to know Spike was alive.

Then again, though, maybe Angel was right. Fred had no idea what kind of relationship they’d had. Spike was charming, and not above using that charm to get his way. Maybe Buffy was better off without him in her life. But was that really her choice to make? No, it wasn’t. And it wasn’t Angel’s, either.

Her mind made up, Fred dug out her cell phone. She didn’t have Buffy’s number, but she and Willow still kept in touch. She’d call the witch and ask her to pass along the message. And then…. Well, then the ball would be in Buffy’s court.

**...**

Buffy lay sprawled across the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Everything was supposed to be good now. There were all kinds of baby slayers out there, fighting the good fight for puppies and Christmas and discount shoe shopping. She was supposed to be enjoying a fantastic European vacation while Giles and the other surviving Watchers gathered up their resources and contacted all those new little slayers. They’d have it all explained to them and get set up with a support system of other girls with their powers and duties.

 _Yay for them._ And she meant it. Being the One Girl in All the World really sucked. She was glad no one else would be saddled with it. Or as glad as she could be when she mostly just felt numb about everything.

At first, she’d embraced the new feeling of freedom. She could go anywhere, do anything. She wasn’t tied to Sunnydale and its Hellmouth anymore. And the person who had helped make that a reality…. Well, she knew from experience that the dead wanted their loved ones happy and living life to the fullest. Death was only a tragedy to those left behind. For the dead, it was moving from one thing to another. If she wanted to honor Spike’s sacrifice, she had to enjoy herself, right?

For the first few days, she’d lived out that mindset. But then things had started sinking in. Sunnydale was gone, along with her mother’s grave, all of the family photos, Mr. Gordo. And Spike. He’d been a part of her life for a while, first as a thorn in her side, then the one always _by_ her side. Enemy. Punching bag. Lover. Friend. Hero. Dust and gone.

And it didn’t matter what the dead wanted for the living, because she _was_ the living, and to her, him being gone was a tragedy. He’d gone off and gotten a _soul_ for her, all on his own. No one had forced him or cursed him. He’d just decided to go and do it. That had been big. Seriously, majorly big, and she hadn’t had time to really process it. To process _him_ and how she felt about everything.

And now he was dead. Deader. She’d raged for an entire day, calling him every name she could think of and then just screaming random harsh sounds at his memory before sobbing into a pillow. Now she was just numb. Numb wasn’t too bad. Numb didn’t hurt.

Numb was gentle and sleepy, and let you shrug with a fake grin at everyone who was concerned about how much you were sleeping. _Hey, just making up for lost time. You know how hard it is get a good night’s sleep when you have to slay_ and _go to high school? I never really had a chance to catch up on that good old beauty sleep even after graduation._

And they bought it, because they wanted to. Because they’d all lost things in Sunnydale, and no one wanted to reach out past their own shell of misery if they had an excuse not to. So they all dealt with things in their own ways. Willow was out partying every night with Kennedy, letting the rich girl spend money and shower her with gifts. Xander had retreated to some sort of workshop Giles had set up for him, working out his grief and loss – of both Anya and his eye, though it was Anya that had to hurt the worst – by shaping chunks of wood to his will. And then there was Dawn, who barely spoke to anyone, just holed up in her room, studying ancient texts like she thought they’d vanish away in a puff of smoke. Just like….

Buffy let her eyes flutter closed. Tired. She was so, so tired. Too tired to even bother taking off her clothes and getting ready for bed. She’d just nap for now, get enough energy so she could sleep properly after she woke up. She’d almost drifted off when a knock on the door snapped her back to being fully awake. Damn it.

 _Go away,_ she thought, turning her head to glare at the door. But she didn’t say it, since it might have been Dawn, and she was still responsible for her.

“What’s up?” she called out, forcing herself to sit up and look like she cared. Just like riding a bike. You never really forgot how to fake being okay.

Willow opened the door and walked in, wearing high heels and a vibrant green dress that complimented the red of her hair beautifully. Hair that had been styled in an artfully careless way that had either required magic or the skills of an expensive stylist. Buffy was pretty sure she was also wearing makeup, blended perfectly to look like she wasn’t at all. She looked like some rich person’s trophy, not a smart computer girl who had grown into being a powerful witch. She looked like Kennedy’s girlfriend, not like Willow.

She also had a strange expression on her face as she stared down at the cell phone clutched in her hand. “I, uh… I just got a call from Fred,” she finally said, looking up from the phone. Her eyes held a lost, sort of stunned expression, like this Fred person had hit her over the head with a hammer.

Fred, Fred, who was…? Oh, right. That scientist girl who worked for Angel. A vague, sluggish feeling of dread stirred in Buffy’s gut, but it was mostly smothered by irritated exhaustion. She so didn’t want to deal with Angel or any of his problems.

She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s Angel gotten himself into now?”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly fair. Once he’d gotten off on his own in L.A., he hadn’t exactly needed her to save his butt all that much anymore, but still…. She blinked as she thought that over. Huh. She’d never really considered it that way before now, but yeah, she’d been the one to save Angel a lot. When she’d needed him, he’d usually been all crypto-guy. _Not important right now._ Nothing was, though she still had to pretend.

“It’s not Angel,” Willow said. “It’s…. Buffy….” She paused and took a deep breath, then continued in a rush. “It’s Spike. He’s back.”

She kept talking, something about the amulet and Spike being stuck in L.A. as a non-corporeal being, but it all sort of washed over Buffy as she stared blankly ahead. Back? Spike was….

“How long?” she asked quietly, breaking into Willow’s rambling. “How long has he been in L.A.?”

She wanted to think they’d been told right away that Spike was back ( _Alive! He’s alive, oh god, Spike’s alive!_ part of her cried out in giddy disbelief, but most of her was too stunned to fully process it yet), but this was Angel and his people. He liked to keep things from her for “her own good.” Anger flickered somewhere deep inside.

“Um… a little over a month, according to Fred.”

And there it went. That little flicker roared up into a searing flame of rage, burning through Buffy’s apathy. A whole. Freaking. _Month_. She got to her feet and strode to the closet, methodically stuffing both clothes and weapons inside.

“Buffy?”

“Tell Dawn to get packed,” Buffy said without looking up from her task. “We’re going to L.A.”


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy stared at her packet of fancy, gourmet pretzels. There were no peanuts. There really should have been peanuts. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? If you were on a plane, no matter how fancy, there were supposed to be peanuts. Okay, yeah, so the pretzels were actually better, but it was the principle of the thing, damn it. Some things were just supposed to be.

There should be peanuts on any flight – even when that flight was a private Watchers Council jet – and people who claimed to love you should tell you when someone you cared about came back from the dead. Or back as a ghost, or whatever it was. Willow had tried to explain, about how Spike was a non-corporeal being rather than a true ghost because he didn’t fit all of the ghost criteria, but a lot of it had gone right over Buffy’s head. She understood the important stuff, though. Spike was back, and Angel had kept it a secret, even though Spike had asked for someone to contact her.

Thank god someone finally had, even if it had taken an entire month for Willow’s friend to do the right thing. Not that she could entirely blame Fred. Angel hated Spike, and he was a master manipulator. No doubt he had everyone there convinced Spike was an irredeemable monster, soul or not. If they even knew he had a soul. Spike had been kind of protective of that bit of info – like having the soul had made him ashamed of the fact that he’d felt getting one would fix things – and Angel had been jealous about it. Buffy closed her eyes for a moment and shuddered. Spike, trapped for a month with a jealous Angel.

_No you don’t, but thanks for saying it…._ The words crept in, so full of love as they denied her own. At first, she’d thought he meant that she couldn’t love him. She’d fought so hard not to, after all, and she’d often worried throughout her life that she just didn’t know how to love. But she’d realized, sometime during the trek from the Sunnydale crater, that he’d considered himself unlovable. And now he was with Angel, who would be all too happy to poison Spike’s sense of self-worth.

_Doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. Well, it did, but they’d fix things. Willow and Fred would figure everything out, and Spike would be solid, and Buffy would make sure he knew how much he meant to her. She glanced across the aisle towards Willow, who was busily looking through various books and taking notes. Then her gaze slid back towards the end of the jet, where Dawn was sitting, sullen and unhappy.

Buffy quickly looked away. Damn it. She’d been putting this off for way too long, and there was still a major part of her that wanted to keep putting it off. She kept telling herself that Dawn was too young. That she couldn’t possibly understand. But Dawn was sixteen, the same age Buffy had been when she’d first fallen for a vampire. It was old enough to understand that sometimes love could be really messed up, but still good.

God, it had been hard enough explaining to Xander, and he’d already understood some stuff, way better than she had at the time.

_Why?_ The simple word echoed in her mind in Xander’s voice. He’d found her alone and drinking, tears in her eyes while she watched stupid soap operas that Spike would have loved. _“After all he did to you…. I’m not judging, I just want to know. Why are you mourning him?”_

She’d looked up at him, at his one-eyed, grief ravaged face, and she’d felt compelled to finally explain. She’d poured it all out to him, the secret trysts, the violence, the abuse she’d heaped on Spike because she’d hated herself and hated him for allowing her to feel anything else. How there had always been things like “no” and “make me” between them. And then she told him exactly what had happened in the bathroom, including the look on Spike’s face.

Xander had been quiet for a while after that, making Buffy nervous that maybe he was judging her anyway, despite what he’d said. Then he’d sighed heavily. _“Much as I hate to defend the guy, it sounds like… well, kind of like you were doing BDSM without really knowing the rules. Instead of a safe word, you had a safe action. Proving that no really meant no. And… it worked.”_

_“Yeah, until it didn’t.”_

He’d just looked at her at for a moment before saying, _“But he stopped, right? So it_ did _work. It’s just….”_ He’d shaken his head. _“You guys never talked about it, and you’d never really used your stop before. With me and… with me and Anya, the first time with the safe word…. It gets a little scary, even just with a word.”_

Xander had been right. She’d forced Spike off of her, enforcing her “no”, but after that, he’d stopped himself, running away in horror instead of trying to overpower her. Neither of them had really understood, though, and it had traumatized them both. And, truth be told, Buffy was kind of glad it had happened. It had been a catalyst that had shown both her and Spike that he was capable of doing what no other vampire ever had. He’d willingly gotten his soul.

Dawn needed to know the truth. That the man who had been her friend and protector hadn’t attempted to rape her sister. That he’d made a terrible mistake that he’d done his best to make right. She needed to know that her life wasn’t being upended again to go rescue a rapist who had once been her best friend. It wasn’t fair to Spike to keep letting her think that, and it absolutely wasn’t fair to Dawn herself.

Buffy took a slow, deep breath, then stood up and made her way over to talk to her sister.

**...**

Dawn stared at the ghostly reflection peering back at her from the car window. It was her own face, superimposed over the nightlife of L.A. as Willow drove them towards Evil Incorporated. Angel probably could have sent a limo after them or something instead of the dinky little rental, but he wasn’t supposed to know they were here yet. Here, in L.A., where Spike was. Where Angel was.

She pressed her finger against the window, absently drawing random patterns. Dad was in L.A. right now, too. When Buffy had dragged her off to the jet, babbling something about Spike being back, she’d been really angry. She’d planned to demand that she be left with Dad, maybe for good. Now though…. Now, she was still angry, but also really confused. And kind of numb.

_When it’s bad, Buffy won’t choose you…._ Looking back on it, Dawn wasn’t quite as sure that had really been her mother saying those words from beyond the grave, but so many things still pointed to it. Mom had had to fight to appear to her, or at least it had seemed that way. And her message had seemed to fit what was going on. Buffy was choosing a guy who had hurt them over her own sister. Just like before….

She shivered and hugged herself. _Those memories aren’t real,_ she told herself, but herself didn’t listen. They _felt_ real, and that was all that mattered. She remembered turning ten just after they moved to Sunnydale. And she remembered being eleven when Angel had lost his soul. When he’d murdered her hamster and Willow’s fish. When he’d found her stupidly crying alone over the tiny grave just after dark, because she’d thought she was safe in her own yard and had lost track of time.

He hadn’t hurt her, not really. Just a few bruises, and those had been because she’d squirmed and fought to get free. He’d just… He’d…. _Stripped naked and tied up while he sketched her, her cheek still wet from where he’d licked it._

He hadn’t done anything worse than that. He might have, though, if not for Spike, there in a wheelchair making snide comments about Angel needing a little girl to get it up “right proper”. She didn’t think it had been to save her or anything, just him getting back at Angel however he could. _Stuff_ had happened after that. Things that didn’t involve her, but made a lot of disturbing sounds from another room. Then she’d been dressed up in a Catholic schoolgirl uniformed and dumped near the Bronze, tied up again with the sketches between the ropes and the clothes.

Buffy had found her, and it still hadn’t been enough for her to stake him. Because she’d cared more about Angel. Because she’d chosen him over her own sister. And, okay, the memory wasn’t _real_ , and Buffy had told her she’d been more concerned with making sure she was alright than with vengeance, but still….

And then she’d been fawning over Spike, and Dawn had thought it was the same thing all over again. She’d thought Buffy was clinging to a monster again. Choosing a monster again. But if he’d just made a really bad mistake…. Willow had made really terrible mistakes, and she’d been let off with just a bunch of cookies. Getting a soul had to be worth at least a few dozen cookies. Right?

But Dawn was still mad. He’d left without telling her, and both he and Buffy had let her think…. And then the stupid, _stupid_ vampire had been all noble and had burned himself up in the Hellmouth to close it for good.

She sniffled and rubbed at the sudden moisture pooling at the corners of her eyes. _I’m gonna kick him in the shin,_ she promised herself. And she totally would, because Willow was absolutely going to make him solid again. And she was going to be there when it happened. Even if it meant being around Angel again.

**...**

A sliver of guilt sparked through him like a splinter in his soul, but Angel ignored it. He really should be out patrolling or something, but he deserved this. He’d earned it. He glanced around to make sure his own personal pestergeist wasn’t hanging around, then leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on his desk, and turned on the TV.

The hockey game had just started, and things already looked good for his team. In a few minutes, Harmony would bring him a mug of otter-laced blood. Sometimes, it really was good to be the king. It wouldn’t last, of course. He knew that. He expected Spike to show up at any moment to annoy him, or for some crisis to pop up. Maybe both things at once. If he was lucky, the crisis would be some kind of unbeatable monster who could only be appeased by eating a really irritating vampire ghost.

That particular fantasy was interrupted by Harmony’s voice yelling at someone that they couldn’t go into his office. Then the door burst open, and there was Buffy, framed for an instant in the doorway, eyes blazing with emotion. Damn, but that would make a beautiful drawing, wouldn’t it? He shook the thought away as he stood up and walked around his desk, Buffy striding forward to meet him.

Was there some kind of apocalypse brewing that she needed his help with? _Or maybe the cookies are finally done?_ That thought wasn’t quite as comfortable as he would have liked, and not just because of the curse. No matter what she was there for, though, he needed to get her out of the building before Spike saw her.

He’d just opened his mouth to suggest they go somewhere else – maybe to the Hyperion – when Buffy’s fist slammed into his jaw.

“ _Ow_ …. What the hell?”

“What the hell?” she repeated, striking out at him again. He grabbed her arm before she could connect, only for her to hit him in the side of the head with the other hand. “I think that’s my line. What the hell, Angel? Did you magically forget how to use a phone?”

“What are you –”

“The cookies are done,” she interrupted harshly, pulling her arm out of his grip as she took a few steps back. “And they aren’t for y–”

“Hey, mate, you know you’ve a right nasty infestation of….”

Angel closed his eyes. Damn it. He had no idea what had gotten Buffy so riled up, but Spike showing up was going to make things worse. “Go away,” he said, opening his eyes and glaring at the ghost who had just walked in through the wall. “I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”

Spike wasn’t listening. He was staring at Buffy, his mouth still open from his uncompleted comment, eyes full of a painful mix of love and terror and hope.

“Buffy,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Hey, Spike.” Her voice was tender and a little wavery, like she was holding back tears. And there was no surprise.

She’d known. That’s why she had been so angry. Like she’d said, her cookies were done. And they seemed to be for Spike.


	3. Chapter 3

She stood there, his slayer, a golden warrior queen with hazel eyes blazing in rage. The rage softened, melting away to something tender and vulnerable as Buffy stared at him. If it had been beating, his heart would have stopped at the sight of her, too full of conflicting emotions to keep going. God, Buffy. He’d given up on ever seeing her again, and here she was…

Or was she? Alive, undead, or ghost, daydreams had always been a part of Spike’s existence, an escape from unpleasantness and boredom. That had to be what this was.

It had finally all got to him, being trapped here with Angel and his lot, where he was constantly mocked and ridiculed. Not much different from other times in his life, honestly, but add to that being unable to smell or taste? Unable to bloody well _feel_ , not even his own touch much less anything else. Cold. Lifeless. Dead. And now, apparently, he’d gone right round the bend, sucked into a daydream that felt like it was real.

“Buffy.” He forced her name out past a throat gone somehow dry despite being non-bloody-corporeal, half afraid that naming her would make her vanish away. And half afraid it wouldn’t, that she was real, but that she was there for Angel, to give the sorry sod yet another chance.

“Hey, Spike,” she said, her voice echoing the look in her eyes. Soft. Tender. Vulnerable. “Fred… Fred called and told me everything.”

Fred. The only one of Angel’s lot to actually try to help him. Of course she would have called Buffy, and knowing she had suddenly made everything wonderfully, achingly real. If this was some sort of daydream he’d fallen into as an escape from his wretched existence, she’d have somehow felt that he was back, drawn to L.A. by the power of love or some such overly romantic drivel.

“You… you came for me?”

 _I love you._ Her words at the Hellmouth, when he was sacrificing his worthless self to ensure that the work the slayers had done wouldn’t go to waste. He hadn’t been able to believe her, then, though he’d been clinging to the words like a lifeline since he’d been dragged back from the peace of being in the amulet.

 _Did she feel like that after she was pulled from heaven?_ he wondered. Had to have been worse, heaven being a place of joy as well as peace.

“I’ll _always_ come for you,” she said quietly as she moved towards him, stopping just within touching distance. She even reached out her hand, before letting it fall back to her side. She swallowed hard and forced a smile. “It… it’s okay. Willow and Fred are going to figure something out. We’ll fix this.”

Spike closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, fighting back despair. Breathing had always been a comfort to him, but now…. He could hear her voice, her breathing, the beat of her heart. He could see her, drink in the play of light and shadow along her supple form. But there was no trace of her familiar scent, wildflowers and sunlight along with the spice all slayers shared. He wouldn’t be able to taste the sweet salt of her skin, and as for touch….

He clenched his fist, focusing all of his will on that one part of his body. Then he opened his eyes and lifted his hand. “Can’t feel it,” he said softly, “but if I focus enough….”

Buffy brought her hand up, their fingers linking together. His right to her left, just like those final moments in the Hellmouth. He didn’t go through her or anything, but he couldn’t feel it. It was like touching his own ghostly body. Or like touching his legs back when he’d been paralyzed, but with the same lack of sensation in his hands as well. Pressure, but no sensation.

“I love you,” she whispered.

 _No you don’t, but thanks for saying it._ She’d come for him. She really meant it. She had to. “I–”

“Here’s your blood, Boss!” Harmony chirped, bursting in through the door with a mug.

It startled him, costing him his focus. Buffy’s hand passed right through his, and the despair crashed down.

**...**

_She is so dead,_ Buffy thought grimly as her hand passed through Spike’s, his eyes going from full of wonder to pools of blue misery. Even as the words popped into her head, she was turning, her hand grabbing for the stake in the back sheath under her shirt. Before she could drive it home, a cool hand clamped down on her wrist.

Angel wasn’t strong enough to completely stop her, but it slowed her down enough for Harmony to drop the mug of blood and run from the room with a squeal of terror. Buffy could have shaken free and gone after her, but it wasn’t worth the effort. Or at least the going after Harmony bit wasn’t. She wrenched her arm out of Angel’s grip and glared at him.

“Damn it, Buffy, you can’t just keep coming into my town and threatening to kill the people under my protection,” he snapped, glaring right back.

For a second, she had no idea what he was talking about, but then she remembered the whole Faith thing, where he’d protected the other slayer. Okay, so maybe it had turned out for the best that she hadn’t killed her, but still…. Buffy put her stake away, and then, when Angel started to relax, she decked him. Hard.

“You don’t get to say where I go or what I do. And you sure as hell don’t get to keep it from me when someone I love comes back from the dead!”

Angel’s mouth tightened in a thin, angry line. “Go home, Buffy, there’s nothing for you here. And maybe I can’t keep you out of L.A., but I can and will get you out of my building. It’s up to you, though, if you go on your own, or if I have to call security to kick you out.”

“Just try it,” she said quietly. “Even if I can’t fight my way through all of your guards, I’m not exactly here on my own. You want to try your people against a witch who nearly ended the entire world and activated all of the potentials?”

Also, Dawn, but Buffy doubted her ex would be impressed by her little sister’s hair pulling and banshee-like screeching. Though Spike had always sworn that the screeching could drop a vampire from twenty feet away, with their sensitive hearing and all. From the expression on Angel’s face, half bitter and half resigned, it looked like she wouldn’t have to threaten that particular weapon of mass annoyance.

She turned away from him, way past tired of putting up with his bullshit, and turned her focus back where it belonged. On Spike.

Or tried to, anyway. He was gone.

**...**

Spike sat on the edge of the roof, gazing up at the stars. Big dipper, little dipper, the rest of the Ursas Major and Minor. Orion, shooting off his bloody bow. He stared at them, but they weren’t what he saw. He saw Angel’s hand gripping Buffy’s wrist. He saw the two of them kissing when the gormless tit had brought the amulet to Sunnydale.

And he saw Buffy’s fist smashing into Angel’s face. How sick was it that the violence was what had got to him the most? To hit and be hit, a glorious dance of traded blows, passion and violence the two sides of one coin. It had excited him, though not in a sexual way like it would have before. _Thank god for small favors, yeah?_ he thought, suddenly feeling too exhausted by it all to even be bitter. Couldn’t diddle his willy, but at least he hadn’t the urge to, either.

He heard a sound behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see Buffy heading over. She sat down beside him without saying a word, the two of them sharing a moment of companionable silence.

“Fred has a doohickey that can track you,” she finally said. “Didn’t need it, though. I knew you’d be up here. Or in a basement.” She wrinkled her nose in adorable disgust. “And I’ve seriously had enough of basements, so I’m glad I checked up here first.”

“Not particularly keen on basements myself right now.” Though that last night in Buffy’s basement…. A tender and gentle exploration of each other, the way it was meant to be….

Silence again, though this one felt awkward, heavy with things that needed to be said. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but the words to explain his jumbled up emotions – to explain why he’d left Angel’s office – wouldn’t come.

Again, it was Buffy who broke the silence. “Fred and Willow are both really smart, and you know how powerful Will is. If anyone can get you solid again, it’s them.”

“And if they can’t?” he asked quietly.

She took a deep breath and blew it out in a frustrated huff. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure something out. You’re tied to the amulet, but Angel gave it to me, and I gave it to you.” There was an odd hitch in her voice, like she regretted things. He wanted to reassure her that he’d made his own choice there, but she continued on before he could. “That means it’s yours, and no way in hell am I letting Angel keep it. We’ll… we’ll take it wherever you want, and, and if you decide that isn’t with me….” She trailed off and turned to look at him, her eyes fierce and full of pain.

That pain drove it in, even deeper than the words. She loved him. She really…. He swallowed hard and wiped at his eyes. God, he wasn’t worthy of her love, but if he was what she wanted, what right did he have to tell her otherwise?

“If you don’t want to be with me… it’ll hurt, but okay. That’s your choice. But don’t you dare try to leave me for my own good!”

He laughed a little at how in sync they’d apparently been and flashed her a lopsided smirk. “No worries on that, love. Grown woman, aren’t you? Not my place to be telling who you can or can’t be with.”

“Damn straight,” she muttered with a satisfied nod. She eyed him a little shyly. “So…. What does this all mean? We’re dating?”

 _Does it have to mean anything?_ Was a definite temptation to throw those words back at her, but he kept them back. Much as it had hurt to hear them, he understood how confused she’d been about everything then. Truth to tell, he’d been pretty confused at the time as well. Still was about some things, but not how he felt about her.

“Yeah, suppose we are at that. If it’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want. Before….” She shrugged uncomfortably. “It’d be nice, you know, to try real dating? With all the bells and whistles. Or, you know, whatever we can manage with….” She trailed off and waved her hand in his general direction.

He smirked then at his own expense. “Can’t pay for anything, but at least I’d be a right cheap date, going out to eat or to the cinema.” He stared down at his hand, focusing until he felt the odd tingle that meant he could touch something. Then he hesitantly reached out to rest his hand on Buffy’s knee. “And, uh, about other things…. Getting better at it. The, uh, whole affecting the physical world thing and all. Should be able to do for you right proper.”

“Do for me? What…?” Buffy’s face scrinched up in confusion for a moment, then cleared, her eyes widening as her cheeks reddened. Bloody adorable, she was. “Oh. Oh, um…. Th-that would be nice, but what about you?”

He shrugged and pulled his hand away from her knee just as it started to fall through. _Why is it,_ he wondered, _I can bloody well sit and stand on things without thinking about it?_ Probably just actually hovering right above it all, but so close as to not matter. He shook the random thoughts away and answered Buffy’s question.

“Nothing really to be done. Not the first time I’ve pleased my lady without getting my own off. Remember back when you dropped on organ on me?” He and Dru had done just fine while he’d been paralyzed. At least until Angel had shat out his pretty little soul and had used his working body to take her away from him. “Not much different from what you and Angel would have done after you hooked back up.”

She squirmed and suddenly seemed to find the view over the edge of the roof utterly fascinating. “Um, yeah, not so much. Awkward dates and some light making out, and then he left me because we couldn’t have sex without him going evil. He, uh, he called our relationship a freakshow.”

 _Ouch._ “Somehow, I’m not really all that surprised.” Angel liked to talk the talk of being a knight of shining virtue with his soul, but from what Spike had seen, he didn’t always walk the walk very well. Bit like a drunk shambling wildly along a chalk line, convinced they were right on target. “Soul or no, he’s always been a right wanker.”

“Yeah,” Buffy sighed out. “Took me a while to figure it out, but finding out he’d kept you a secret really put things into perspective for me. Even if… even if I didn’t love you, he _knew_ I cared about you. I told him you were in my heart. You don’t….” Her voice broke, and she had to stop for a moment to collect herself. “You don’t keep a secret like that from someone who means anything at all to you. It’s petty and it’s cruel and it’s _evil_. It’s just….”

“Doesn’t matter anymore, slayer-mine,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You and me, we’re in this together, solid or not. Angel’s going to be Angel, but that’s not going to get in the way of us being us, yeah?”

She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day, lifting his spirits and banishing all hints of depression. “Yeah.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You aren’t a ghost,” Fred announced, all but buzzing with excitement as she looked at the screen of the gadget she’d scanned Spike with.

She’d popped up nearly the moment he and Buffy had left the roof, a bit of a mad scientist gleam in her eyes as she asked them to come to the lab. They’d met up with Willow there, but no Dawn. Apparently, Lorne had whisked her away for the grand tour of the place. Spike wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. Much as he missed his little bit…. Well, she wasn’t _his_ little bit anymore, was she? She hated him. Rightly so, but that didn’t make the hatred any easier to bear.

_What I deserve, though, innit?_

“I said from the start that you just didn’t fit the criteria,” Fred continued, pulling him from his thoughts, “but we all just sort of assumed things were skewed due to being a vampire with a soul and tied to the amulet.”

He remembered that, when she’d run some tests on him after he’d been pulled from the peaceful confinement of the amulet. “No ectoplasmic matrix and generating a bit of heat, which neither ghosts nor vampires do.”

“Right,” she said, flashing him a pleased smile. Whether they made him solid or not, he was looking forward to leaving this place. He’d miss Fred, though. Be easy enough to keep in touch if he ended up corporeal again. If not, maybe someone could help him write letters or somesuch. “When–”

“If he’s not a ghost or a vampire, what is he?” Buffy cut in. She was pacing the lab, arms crossed over her chest, no doubt wishing she could grab the problem by the stones and beat it into submission. “And does it really matter? What about that machine you made before, can Willow help you make another one?”

“I could,” Willow answered, “but there wouldn’t be any point. It worked by solidifying ectoplasm and anything similar, but since Spike isn’t a ghost at all, he doesn’t have anything the machine could affect. He _is_ still a vampire, though.”

“Just sort of a fluid one,” Fred added. “The amulet released him in an energy state.”

“What does that even mean?” Buffy demanded, voice rough with frustration.

“We’re pretty sure the amulet sucked all of Spike up, not just his soul,” Fred started to explain. “It took his body, too. The, uh, remains of it, anyway.” She shot him an adorably awkward smile of apology. “But when he came back out, all the various bits of him are moving too fast. That’s why he’s generating heat. E equals MC squared. Energy is mass moving at the speed of light, so if we apply certain mathematical formulas….”

Spike’s mind wandered a bit as she got all sciencey, going back to the day he’d come out of the amulet. He wrapped his arms around himself in absentminded mimicry of that day, huddling in his coat. Just like then, it was an empty gesture that was more distressing than comforting.

She’d said he wasn’t a ghost, but had had no real answer when he’d asked what the bloody hell he _was_ then. He looked like a duck, walked like a duck, but honked like a goose. They’d all just collectively shrugged and treated him like a sodding duck, including himself.

“Okay, so, what does that all mean in English?” Buffy asked, the sound of her voice drawing Spike’s attention back to the present.

“Or the American valley girl bastardization of English,” he said, smirking a bit.

Buffy, mature slayer that she was, stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, very, very basically, energy is just mass going really fast, which means that mass is energy going really slow. Sort of congealed energy, like sticking gravy in the refrigerator.”

“Riiight, okay. So, vampire gravy. Got it. Can you guys do that or not?”

“We can,” Willow said quietly. Then she looked at Spike, compassion in her eyes. “If that’s what he wants.”

“ _If_ that’s what he wants?” Buffy repeated incredulously. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Good question, that. Red could be a bit of an odd duck at times who didn’t always bother to consider consequences, but she was a good one at heart. She must have come across something or other that might make him actually _want_ to be all ghostlike. What that might be, he hadn’t the foggiest. Unless maybe she thought he should stay this way as payment for all the terrible things he’d done?

“With the magic and technology we have access to, we can make you solid,” Willow said, her attention focused fully on him like he was the only one in the lab. “Or we can put you back in the amulet.”

Put him back in the…? Spike took an involuntary step back, horrified. “Are you out of your bleeding mind?” Back in the amulet? She thought he might want to go through that agony again? His skin and muscles burning away, eyes melting, organs bursting, becoming dust just slow enough to experience every distinct phase of the process.

And then coming back out of it. The entire thing reversed, but without the joy of knowing he was going out doing something good. Without the pocket of utter peace and rest he’d found within the…. Oh. Was that what Will was on about?

“You are _not_ putting him back in the amulet!” Buffy snapped, planting herself between him and the witch. “Why would you even consider something like that? He _died_ for all of us. For the whole damn world, what the hell else does he have to do?”

God, but it felt good hearing her defend him like that. Still and all, best to stop things before they got nasty. “No worries, love,” he said quietly. “She means well.”

Buffy looked over her shoulder at him, eyes swimming with hurt and confusion.

“I… I, uh, don’t think it was exactly like heaven,” Willow explained, “but….”

“Was peaceful there, in the amulet.” Ah, bloody hell, a stricken look in his girl’s eyes now. “If it was between the amulet and being Angel’s verbal whipping boy….” He shrugged uncomfortably, staring down at his boots for a moment before meeting Buffy’s gaze again. “But between it and you….” He smiled. “No contest, Slayer. It’s always you.” He shifted his gaze to Willow. “Let’s do this. Make me solid.”

**...**

When Dawn thought of cafeteria food, it was usually the sort of bland slop they served at schools. Not so at Evil and Sons, Attorneys at Law, apparently. Cooked to order steak, lobster tails, gourmet mac and cheese with chunks of thick bacon, and so many other things, some of which she couldn’t even identify. Like the gelatinous, milky-purple _stuff_ she’d gotten a bowl of along with everything else.

The horrified look Lorne was giving her only made her more determined to try it. She dug her spoon into the jiggly mass and crammed it into her mouth. It had an oddly chewy texture, and the taste…. It was kind of like a really stinky cheese getting freaky with anchovies and marshmallows. She swallowed and eagerly took another bite. Mmm.

“I don’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed.”

He may have been one of Angel’s lackeys, but she kind of liked him. He was friendly and flamboyant and told good jokes. Also really bad jokes, but at least they were fun.

She grinned at him and dug the spoon back in. “Why not both?”

The green demon chuckled at that. “Sounds good, cupcake.”

Her smile faltered at that, and she quickly finished her mouthful without really tasting it. The food based nickname made her think of Spike. She hadn’t seen him yet. She kind of wondered if he was even really here, or if it was all some big, stupid joke. People didn’t just come back from the dead. Well, okay, vampires were sort of people who had come back from the dead, but that was different. And Mom, but she’d torn up the picture and sent her back right away. And then Buffy….

_Okay, so, nobody dies forever or whatever. But that doesn’t mean Spike is really here._

She stared down at her food, playing with it a little bit before looking up at Lorne. “Is… is Spike here? As some kind of ghost? That’s why we came. To find him. And, um, make him not a ghost. Somehow.”

“Yeah, he’s really here.” Lorne gave her a sympathetic smile and reached out to pat her hand. “Poor little crumpet was pretty confused and scared when he first showed up, but he’s started adjusting. And if anyone can help him, it’ll be Fred. Don’t you wor–”

The song “She Blinded Me with Science” chimed out, and Lorne held up one finger as he dug out his phone. “Hey, Freddykins, just talking about you. What did you need? Oh. Okay. I’ll ask her.” He moved the phone away from his mouth and covered the bottom of it. “What did I tell you, honeybun? They’ve figured out a way to get our boy back among the solid. He’d like you to be there, if you want.”

Dawn stared back down at her food. If she wanted. Her thoughts drifted to the summer when Buffy had been dead. Even before that, everything had been a mess. She’d found out she wasn’t human and that most of her memories were fake. And then Mom had died, and so much had happened that she’d never really gotten a chance to grieve. All she’d had at that point had been Buffy and the Scoobies. And Spike. He’d let himself be tortured to keep her safe. And he’d been there for her that entire summer, even though it was her fault Buffy had died. They’d grieved together.

She wanted that back. Not the grieving, that part had really sucked, but the friendship. “Yeah, I want to go.”

Though she was still totally going to kick him in the shin.

**...**

Fred’s deghosting machine had been a big hodgepodge of a thing with all sorts of bits and bobs. Her “gravy blaster” as Buffy had called it looked like nothing so much as a toy ray gun with gems pasted willy-nilly all over. Those were Willow’s contribution, spelled stones with magic that would help to shape and direct Fred’s science. Seemed a flimsy sort of thing to trust his fate to, and Spike found himself a lot more nervous than he’d been with the big machine.

He was stood on display in the center of a chalk circle with everyone watching, waiting. Fred and Willow, of course. Buffy, right up at the edge of the circle, as close to him as she could be without being in the area of influence. Lorne, too, who’d brought Dawn along with him.

His Nibblet, there to see him become solid. She hadn’t said anything, but she kept sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. No real anger or hate that he could see. Was she actually glad he was back, or just putting on a good front for big sis?

No question about the feelings of the last member of the group. Angel stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glowering in general disapproval.

 _Doesn’t matter how he feels,_ Spike told himself, firmly squashing down the part of him wanting the older vampire’s approval. Soul or no, his grandsire had always been a sore loser. Had to gall to see “his girl” chose Spike over him, but that was his problem, wasn’t it? He’d no business being here, sulking.

He shook his head, clearing away all thoughts of Angel, and took a breath before nodding at Fred. “Ready whenever you are, pet.”

She nodded back and pulled the trigger, releasing a beam of light. At first, he wasn’t sure anything had happened, but then he felt it. The texture of his clothes, even the feel of the air against his skin. He stumbled back, instinctively brushing at his arms. God, was almost like ants marching along his flesh, the tingle of returning sensation. Uncomfortable as hell, but oh so glorious as well. He could feel. Oh God, he could _feel!_

“Spike?”

He turned at Buffy’s hopeful whisper, flinging his arms out wide. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a bone-jarring embrace. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. Too much. It was…. If Buffy hadn’t been holding him, he’d have staggered to the ground. Sunlight and wildflowers and slayer spice. And beneath that, he could smell the blood pumping through her veins.

Blood that made him suddenly and uncontrollably ravenous, wiping out all thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy had only a moment to bask in the feel of the man in her arms before everything seemed to happen all at once. The _crunch_ of a vampire going bumpy. A snarl from across the room. Only seconds to act, and her body following through before her mind was even sure of what was happening. She stepped back and turned, feeling the whisper of displaced air as something hurtled through the area where Spike would have been if she hadn’t moved. Her balance and timing were perfect as she lifted one leg to kick out behind her, catching the would-be attacker with a satisfying _thud_ of impact.

“Damn it, Buffy!” Angel snapped.

She ignored him, entirely focused on Spike and the feel of his fangs against her throat, just shy of piercing the skin. Her heart was racing, but not from fear. She was tempted to tell him to go ahead and bite her, for his first taste of blood now that he was corporeal to be hers. She remembered the last time she’d willingly donated blood to a vampire. Pleasure and pain as Angel drank away her life. That had been a desperate situation where she’d had to lose nearly all of her blood to save him. But if it was with Spike….

 _Not here,_ she thought. _Not now._ Something that intimate shouldn’t be done in front of everyone. Especially not with Spike trembling and trying to get away from her.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve got this. You’re in control. Someone go get some blood,” she called out, keeping her voice calm and even. She didn’t acknowledge when Fred said she’d do it, just kept petting Spike’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

It seemed to be helping. The trembling eased up a little, and the fangs moved away from her throat, replaced by a ridged forehead pressed against the spot where her shoulder met her neck.

“Buffy, get away from him,” Angel said, grimly. “He’s dangerous.”

The urge to have Spike bite her rose again, but she pushed it back. They weren’t doing that here, and definitely not as a way to stick it to her ex. That would be seriously tacky. Like going at it like bunnies on his desk or something. So not her style, even though the jerk absolutely deserved it.

“He’s not dangerous, he’s just overwhelmed and hungry.” What would that be like, to suddenly be able to feel and smell – _and taste_ , her naughty thoughts reminded her – all at once? No wonder he’d wigged out a bit. “Nothing to get all drama queen over.”

That startled a quiet little laugh out of Spike. “He can’t help it, love. Drama queen is his default state.”

She heard him take a slow, deep breath, and when he tried to pull away again, she let him. He didn’t go far, just putting enough distance between them to look at her with his head tilted a little to the side. She gazed into those yellow eyes, both alien and familiar at the same time, then she slowly reached out her hand towards his face. He flinched away at first, but when she didn’t act freaked out or anything, he nuzzled her palm. Human looking or all demon-y, either way, he was beautiful.

She didn’t look away until Dawn walked over to them with a thermos. “Um, here.” She held it out towards Spike. “Fred says it’s a mix of pig and otter. Supposed to be pretty tasty.”

Fangs and ridges melted away to wherever they went, and yellow eyes faded back to blue. “Thanks, pidge,” he said quietly, taking the thermos without quite looking at Dawn.

It was awkward and kind of heart breaking, and Buffy wished she knew how to fix things between her boyfriend and little sister. They’d gotten close during the whole Glory mess, and even closer after Buffy had died. _And then I started pulling them apart and damaging things even before Xander blabbed about things he didn’t understand._

She tried to think of something to say or do, but then Dawn took care of it herself. She kicked Spike in the leg before wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug.

**...**

Spike had always been a tactile being, was part of what had made the whole non-corporeal business so bloody hard to endure. Along with the lack of scent and taste, of course. And being stuck with Angel had been a right nightmarish experience, hadn’t it? It had all been a bloody horror, and he was grateful to be quit of it. The fact that it had been Buffy who had come to his rescue, swooping in like the hero she was to save his damsel-y self….

He really didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve to be solid and free, wandering about in a hotel room and touching everything. Walls, dresser, bathroom counters. The smoothness of the mirror. He stared at where his reflection should be, seeing only Buffy in an apparently otherwise empty room, watching the mirror intently. Watching him, really. He didn’t deserve her, but he’d already sorted that all out, hadn’t he? He loved her and wanted her happy. If that meant being with him, then that’s how it was going to be, and he was going to bloody well treasure it, not wallow about uselessly in regrets and feelings of unworthiness.

 _Right then, enough of this rot._ He turned towards Buffy, smiling as he gazed at her. He was alone in a fancy hotel suite with his girl, courtesy of Angel and his own pickpocketing skills. Buffy had done a good job of acting utterly scandalized when he’d whipped out one of Angel’s Wolfram & Hart credit cards, but her eyes had gleamed with mischief, and she’d put up only a token resistance. She’d insisted on using Watcher funds for the little bit’s room, though, which was fair enough.

He needed to get things sorted with Dawn all proper like at some point, but there’d been enough healing there for him to put thoughts of her aside for now and focus completely on Buffy. He sauntered over to her, fingers brushing along her cheek as he cupped it. She hadn’t any makeup on, leaving nothing between her skin and his. God, he could stand about here all night, just basking in the feel of her. Smooth and soft and warm.

“Hey,” she said in quiet greeting, sounding a bit nervous.

“Hey yourself, love,” he murmured, going in to nuzzle the other side of her face.

He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment as he breathed in her scent. Sunshine and wildflowers and the spice of a slayer. Still overwhelming, but he was in a better place now. Less hungry for one thing, though the thought of her blood…. He shuddered, remembering the feel of his fangs at her throat, only iron self-control – and even that holding on by just a thread – keeping them from piercing her flesh. He could have killed her. Ripped out her throat and let the hot red elixir of her life flow into him. Was a part of him still wanting it, to take her inside to be a part of him.

He took a slow, deep breath, blowing it out against her neck and making her gasp softly. He wanted her with him, alive and warm, more than he wanted her life inside of him.

“Do it,” she said, voice breathy and a little unsteady. “Bite me.”

“Buffy….” The smell of her arousal was driving him crazy, urging him to do as she’d asked.

“I trust you.”

All he’d done to her, and she trusted him. Even with what had happened that night in her bathroom. Thinking on it was almost enough to make him pull away, to insist that he couldn’t and shouldn’t be trusted. No, they’d got past that, those last few weeks in Sunnydale. They hadn’t really had time to talk it all out, but they’d worked together, supporting each other. And they’d even made love. If that wasn’t a sign of moving past it all and forgiving, what the bloody hell was?

He started slow, lapping at the side of her neck before gently nibbling with blunt, human teeth. She urged him on, burying her fingers in his hair as she moaned his name. If he was going to do this…. If he was going to do this, he was bloody well going to do it _right_. Slow and sweet, more pleasure than pain. He coated her skin with his saliva, pregaming the euphoretic. Then he flipped the mental switch from human seeming to vampire and let his fangs sink in.

Oh. Oh _god_. It’d been so long. Even more than human blood, he’d missed the _bite_. The pressure and slight vibration that went up into his gums, an odd sort of erogenous zone for most vampires, as near as he could tell. He squeezed his eyes shut, reveling in the feel of it, and in the weight of Buffy in his arms. She’d stiffened at first before moaning and leaning into him, her head tilted to the side.

Utter trust and surrender. She was his for the taking. He drew his fangs out of her flesh, letting her blood well up into his mouth. It was a gift, a sacred sharing. It flowed into him, powerful and fierce, and he took it in, giving back pleasure that left her shaking and gasping.

And he was shaking, too. God, the taste of her…. He could drink her down forever, drown in her. She was inside of him. Would always be inside of him. Part of him wanted to kill her. But even before the soul, he’d been more than just another vampire.

He pulled away with one last, lingering swipe of his tongue. Buffy stared up at him, eyes dilated with desire and the effects of the bite. Then she shook it off enough to shove him down onto the bed to have her way with him.

**...**

Buffy stared up at the ceiling in the early morning hours, Spike cuddled up against her like she was his favorite teddy bear. It felt good and right to have him there like that. It had all been good. The bite – she shivered a bit at the remembered pleasure and reached up to press her fingers against the mostly healed punctures – the sex. It had been fantastic, but…. Something had been _off_. The same sort of something that had been off that night in Sunnydale before they’d stormed the Hellmouth. There had been too much to deal with and process at the time to really think about it back then.

Spike had always been damn good at pleasing a woman, and that definitely hadn’t changed. Hands, mouth, tongue. The way he moved his body while he was inside of her. God, she was getting turned on just thinking about it. But there had been something missing.

 _The edge is gone,_ she thought, not entirely sure what she meant. Other than the bite, which had been pretty gentle all things considered, everything had been kind of… well, _tame_. If not for the last time being similar, she’d have chalked it up to maybe his newly solid body being still too sensitive to handle the rougher stuff. Hell, maybe that was even true to a degree, but she didn’t think it was the main reason.

She could understand him not wanting to hurt her at all during sex, especially with the whole bathroom thing still kind of between them, but he’d shied away from _her_ hurting _him_ , too. Just a moan of pleasure and a murmured “gentle, love, gentle,” when she’d raked her nails down his sides. Regrets and a soul didn’t magically change what a person physically enjoyed, and that moan of pleasure meant he _did_ still enjoy it. It was like he just didn’t _want_ to for some reason.

 _Maybe… maybe he thinks it’s bad, now?_ Buffy frowned uneasily at the thought. He hadn’t flat out said or anything, but she was pretty sure he’d been a virgin before becoming a vampire. What if, like a lot of people, he thought liking rough sex was evil and assumed he only enjoyed it because he was a vampire? That it was a piece of badness lurking under the soul?

She’d kind of thought it was evil, too, until after her talk about safe words and safe actions with Xander. He’d given her a book about BDSM that had talked a lot about how nothing between two consenting adults was wrong as long as some kind of safety measures were in place.

She carefully shifted onto her side so she could gaze at Spike without waking him. He hadn’t really had much of a chance to adjust to the soul. It hadn’t really changed him at his core – and she didn’t think it was going to – but…. It had to be kind of like getting a new pair of boots. All stiff, with a different tread and thickness than what you were used to.

Once you broke them in, everything was okay, but if you didn’t do it right, you’d end up with a hell of a lot of oozing blisters. Which, you know, _ew_ , and they could probably lead to some nasty scars. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the analogy before shaking her head slightly to clear it.

 _Why do people do that, anyway? It’s not like the brain is an Etch a Sketch or something._ She shook _that_ thought away, too, and focused on the issue at hand. There was no Spikeulus and Spike. Just Spike, who was still trying to find his way and get his balance. There were going to be things she just couldn’t help him with. The sex though? She was pretty sure she had that covered. She’d get some sleep, and then….

Then, she was going to use her other, non-slayer-y, superpowers. She was going to shop.


	6. Chapter 6

Spike was alone when he drifted up out of sleep. Buffy’s scent still lingered in the room, along with the faint hint of her warmth in the sheets, but there was no other trace of her. No sound of her breath or beat of her heart. No excited prickle at the back of his neck in response to prey being near, nor the delicious frisson of fear from the presence of a predator. Buffy wasn’t there.

For one heartbreaking moment, he thought she’d run away from him – from the concept of _them_ – and he couldn’t blame her, no matter how much it hurt. Then he vaguely recalled her saying something about doing some shopping. He opened his eyes to see a sheet of yellow note paper resting on the pillow next to him. He grabbed it and sat up.

_Hey, Spike. I’m off to do some shopping for some personal things. I left a note ‘cause, like, “mumble-mumble grunt” is so not full of the coherence, and I wanted to make sure you knew where I’d gone. Waking up alone with no explanation? Seriously not fun, I know. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few hours or so._

_Love, Buffy._

A right idiotic grin spread across Spike’s face as he read the words, but he didn’t give a toss. _Love, Buffy…._ All sorts of ways she could’ve ended the note, but she’d chosen that one. He snorted and shook his head. She’d come for him, had declared her love in deeds and spoken word, and he was mooning about over a single word in a note.

His thoughts drifted to the night they’d just shared. The feel of her skin against his, the salty velvet of it as he worshiped her with his tongue. The taste of her blood, full of fire and life. The white-hot trail of her nails as she raked them down his sides….

 _No,_ he told himself sharply, _‘s not right to enjoy that sort of thing._ It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. But was a vampire, wasn’t he? Meant that violence seeped into everything, even sex. And even more for him than most, what with all of Dru’s training. The things she’d taught him to enjoy, the exquisite tortures he’d learned to crave like a babe its mother’s milk….

Images flashed through his mind. The kiss of barbed wire against his skin as it was lovingly wrapped about his naked body, followed by sweet agony as it pierced his flesh. And through it all, the whisper of Drusilla as she rode him, soft murmurs about her beautiful boy and how lovely it was when he bled.

Spike shuddered, caught somewhere between horror and arousal, and tried to force those thoughts away. God, but he was a right mess, wasn’t he? Him and Buffy, they’d never got that far into things, but he’d taught her about the pleasures of pain, both the giving and the receiving. Mostly the giving, from her to him, because he’d always preferred being on the receiving end. Either way, he’d infected her with his demonic sickness, and when she’d tried to pull out of it, he’d gone to her house to talk and into her bathroom, and….

Somewhere in the back of his mind, part of him tried to point out that humans got up to all sorts of kink without the help of any literal demons or evil, but he shied away from it, feeling overwhelmed. He was still trying to sort himself all out, wasn’t he? Shake up the parts of himself until they all fell into some sort of order. He’d managed to come to terms with his love of fighting in the final days of Sunnydale, but the rest of it….

He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He’d a lot to think on and sort out, but now wasn’t the time for self-contemplation and the like. One thing at a time, and all that, and he’d something else to be doing at the moment. He made a couple of calls and got dressed before leaving a note of his own. Then he headed out of the room.

**...**

Dawn stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room, trying to decide what she wanted to do. She was a nearly seventeen-year-old girl left pretty much on her own with access to an unlimited credit card and a vague order to stay out of trouble.

“Trouble” was a pretty subjective word. She should be out there, gleefully skirting the edges of it. But here she was, still sprawled across the bed in her jammies.

Instead of coming up with something to do, her thoughts drifted towards her sister and Spike. What were they up to? She snorted and rolled her eyes. Like that was really hard to figure out. They were probably boinking left, right, and center. Kind of like that time with Buffy and Riley in the frat, but without the super gross being forced by freaky stuff bit. That had been all major ick, while Buffy with Spike was….

She wasn’t really sure how she felt about it. The mature thing would be to just accept it, especially now that she knew the truth of what had happened. She should just be happy for them. Buffy was her sister, after all, and had even died for her once. And Spike…. Spike had endured torture for her and had been her best friend at one point. He could be again, if they were able to fix things. But would they even get a chance? Or would he and Buffy be too caught up in each other for either of them to have any time for her?

 _Jeez, selfish much?_ she thought mockingly. They had both been through a lot and deserved to have fun and reconnect and all that. And okay, so she had been through a lot, too, but…. And she was all alone right now, with even Willow busy with other stuff, but….

Before a full-on pity party could start up, there was a sudden knock at the door.

“You decent in there, little bi… Dawn?” Spike’s voice started out confident, then had gone all hesitant at the end. There was a tiny vindictive part of her that thought she should be glad, but really, it just sucked. “Got a few things for you.”

“Come on in,” she called out, sitting up on the bed. She wasn’t exactly dressed for going out or anything, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen her in her PJs. There had been a lot of nights after Buffy’s death when she’d only been able to sleep if he was there, reading to her to keep her mind off of things.

The door opened, showing Spike with a pizza box balanced on one hand and a couple of plastic grocery bags hung over his other wrist. A six pack of root beers was on the floor at his feet. He bent to pick them up, and then he was in her room, lightly kicking the door closed. She wondered suddenly if occupied hotel rooms had the whole threshold issue for vampires. If she hadn’t told him to come in, would he have been stuck out there in the hall? It didn’t really matter. He was in the room, and she was glad of it.

“Where’s Buffy?” she asked. “I thought you two would be spending the day together.”

“Off doing a spot of shopping.” He put everything down on the foot of the bed before sitting beside her and grabbing the remote from the nightstand. “Said she needed to pick up some personal things.”

Dawn wondered for a moment what kind of personal things Buffy could need before dismissing it as not really any of her business. Then she opened up the pizza box and peered inside. It looked like a supreme with anchovies and pineapple added to the usual stuff. Yum. A look in the bags revealed various types of candy and snacks. Pizza, soda, junk food, and – yep, she glanced up to see that Spike was in the middle of ordering something from one of the pay-per-view channels – a movie.

Except for the pay-per-view part, they’d done this dozens of times over that summer. She’d pushed at him all the time, needing the proof that he’d stay even if she tried to send him away, but he’d always been there for her. And now he was again. Something she hadn’t realized was all tensed up suddenly eased inside of her. Spike was here, and he was Buffy’s lover, but also Dawn’s friend. The way it was supposed to be.

She snagged a slice of pizza and bit into it, contemplating things as she chewed. Then she said, “You can use pet names for me if you want. I like them.”

After that, they settled in, the lingering awkwardness fading away as they hung out, eating snacks and mocking the movie. It was good to be friends again.

**...**

_Buffy, off to visit with Dawn for a bit. Should be back by this evening._

_Love, Spike_

Buffy grinned at the little heart with an arrow through it that Spike had dotted his I with. That was adorable. And probably done mostly for her benefit. Though maybe not. He did have a pretty healthy whimsical streak.

She set the note aside and looked at the bags she’d spread out over the bed. She was glad that Spike was hanging out with Dawn, and not just because it’d be good for them both to rekindle their friendship. It would give her time to get everything set up. A couple of candles and incense sticks – enough to set the mood without setting off the room’s smoke alarm – a few treats that included otter blood, and then the… special items.

She pulled a pair of handcuffs out of one of the bags, holding them up with one finger. _Do you trust me?_ Spike’s voice whispered through her mind. _Never._ But she’d lied with that answer. She’d trusted him, even then. It had been herself that she hadn’t been able to trust. They’d used the handcuffs anyway, Spike going first, letting her bind and play with him until she was comfortable enough to wear the cuffs herself.

Buffy shivered and closed her eyes, replaying it in her mind. Spike underneath her, naked except for the cuffs and the bruises and bites she’d marked him with. His eyes had been glazed with pleasure and what she hadn’t been able to admit was love as she used his body to forget her pain, if only for a moment. It had been healing, in a way. All of the times she’d turned to Spike. For her, anyway. She’d been able to use him to start the climb out of depression, but she’d stomped on him along the way. This time, though….

This time, she’d heal him, and they’d both climb up together.


	7. Chapter 7

Even before he opened the door to their room, Spike knew Buffy was back, and something within him relaxed, like a fist unclenching from within his chest. He’d known she would – written as much, hadn’t she? – but there was knowing a thing and _knowing_ a thing. And he hadn’t the best track record when it came to _knowing_.

He took a deep breath, holding the rich, fresh tang of Buffy’s scent on the back of his tongue for a moment before opening the door. The lights were off, leaving the soft glow of candles and a few sticks of incense as the only illumination. A soft smile tugged at his lips. She’d never really let herself show it around him before, but he’d always known his Slayer had a bit of a romantic streak.

The woman herself came out the bathroom, then, hands behind her back as she walked towards him, clad in nothing but the flickering shadows cast by the candles. God, she was beautiful. She moved like a predator, muscles sleek and smooth as they played beneath her skin, propelling her forward in a lazy stalk. _There’s no need for hurry,_ that walk seemed to say, _I will catch you and devour you when the time is right._

Spike shivered at the thought as he drank in the sight of her. He wanted to be caught. He wanted to be devoured. Body, mind, demon, and soul. All consumed in the fire that was Buffy. _Should make her work for it,_ a little voice whispered in the back of his mind. Pounce before she got to him, pin her down and wrestle across the floor. Make her….

Images stirred in his mind, that night in Buffy’s bathroom, holding her down while she….

She stopped with only a couple of feet between them, watching him intently. Then she brought her hands out from behind her back. A pair of handcuffs dangled from one finger. “Do you trust me?”

Spike’s thoughts immediately went back to that night, when he’d been the one asking that. When he’d taken things another step further and had introduced her to bondage. He’d changed her. Dragged her into the darkness. He’d….

 _Really now? That’s a right load of bollocks, innit? Maybe stop being an overly romantic and guilt-ridden twit for half a second and think about it._ Neither one of them had wanted to give it much thought at the time, but it had got her all hot and bothered, those days when he’d been chained up in the Watcher’s bathtub. Then there’d been that whole punching him in the nose business. She could be bitchy and cruel at times, but there had been more to it than that. Violence and bondage. They’d been a part of her long before things had started between them.

God, it was all so confusing. One thing wasn’t, though. The answer to her question was simple and easy, and that’s all that mattered at the moment, wasn’t it? Did he trust her?

“Always.”

**...**

She started out slow. They had plenty of time, after all. A lifetime, if Buffy had her way, and at least three days at this particular hotel. That’s when the nifty little soundproofing spell she’d gotten from Willow would fade away. The other spell, the one to reinforce the bed, would probably last for a good few years. So, plenty of time to play with all of her toys. And if they went past three days, well, maybe that would be the right time to break out the ball gag, if not sooner.

But that wasn’t now. Now was just her and Spike and the handcuffs. The cool, silvery metal circled his pale wrists, the perfect jewelry, holding his arms stretched up above his head. She remembered the first time she’d ever had him like this, and she ran her hands up his arms as she straddled his hips, reveling in the feel of soft skin over hard, toned muscle. There was uneasiness in those vivid blue eyes, some kind of conflict, but she knew from last night that it wasn’t because she was on top. He wasn’t confused about that, at least. He still loved it when she took charge. The handcuffs, though?

She stretched out so she could wrap her hands around his wrists just under the cuffs. Then she nuzzled the side of his face. “Mine,” she whispered fiercely into his ear. “These just mean that you’re mine.”

The tension eased out of him, replaced by a shudder and a soft moan of pleasure as she nibbled at his ear. She wanted to bite him, to clamp down with her teeth and make him scream, but she held back. For now. Slow and easy. Let him dip a toe in to gauge the temperature before she threw him into the water.

She shifted, sitting up with her hands now resting on his chest as she rubbed herself against the hard length of him. Then she lazily slid her palms down his body, fingers fluttering along in their wake. Up and down. Circling along to the sides. Moving to her own rhythm as she teased them both with her clit ghosting along the head of his penis.

And then, when it was starting to be too much, she impaled herself on him. Oh, god. He filled her just right. Perfectly Spike-sized, fitting her heart along with her body as she rode him. He arched beneath her, jerking his arms to rattle the handcuffs, like he was testing their strength and taking comfort in it. Then he met her thrust for thrust, her bound vampire, subtle twitches and flexes of his hips adding to the pleasure of it all, a loping jog towards the finish line.

Closer, closer. Almost there. She clenched her muscles just right and took him soaring over the line with her.

**...**

Buffy was a warm weight pinning Spike down as they basked in mutual afterglow. He wanted to hold her, but settled for rubbing his cheek against hers, leaving his arms stretched out and bound as she’d left them. He did tug at them, though, just enough to feel the metal dig into his skin. He took in a deep, Buffy-scented breath and slowly let it out.

He hadn’t changed her. Hadn’t conditioned her into something she wasn’t really into. He’d just… shown her the way, maybe. Given her the key to unlock the door that was already there inside of her, waiting to be opened. Could be that Dru had done the same for him. Much as she’d enjoyed being tortured, she’d never pushed him into hurting her more than he could tolerate. But she’d hurt him. Hurt him good and proper, awakening parts of him that maybe weren’t as much the demon as he’d thought.

He never had got to explore his sexuality as a human, after all, had he? Hell, even his first real kiss had come from Dru. She’d known him even better than he’d known himself. And now… well, now there was more of himself to know, wasn’t there? Including in the biblical sense he supposed, since everything with Buffy was going to involve the whole of him, soul and all.

He clenched his hands into fists and flexed his wrists. He liked the handcuffs. Those were good. _Mine._ He shivered at the memory of Buffy’s words. He belonged to her, cuffed or not, but it was a symbol, wasn’t it? He trusted her to bind him up. To be in her power. It was… comforting, with just a dash of danger.

She stirred against him, nuzzling his neck for a moment before capturing his mouth in a kiss. Her tongue delved past his parted lips in a slow exploration. He started to kiss her back, to map out the contours of her mouth, but she pulled back with a little growl, nipping at his lower lip.

“Meant to just be lying here thinking of England, am I?” he asked, voice husky with desire.

God, but he loved it when she got like this. Feral and possessive. Usually ended with her getting embarrassed and saying something cutting before she ran off. He didn’t think that would be the case this time.

“No,” she said, hazel eyes blazing. “You’re supposed to lay there and think of _me_. Safe word is rutabaga.”

He blinked at her, confused. Rutabaga? Safe word? “What are you –”

“For if I go farther than you’re comfortable with,” she said quietly. “It should work better than the safe action we had before.”

Safe action? When had they ever had a safe action? His memories stirred uneasily. _Don’t,_ she’d say. _Stop me,_ he’d answer. Back and forth like that. _No,_ moaned out by her even as she stroked and guided him inside. Hurt and afraid beneath him, her actions finally….

“Ah!” He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, thoughts scattering like a tossed bag of marbles as her teeth closed around his nipple, straddling the line between pain and pleasure.

Her hot, wet little tongue swirled and lapped at the nub of flesh before she kissed her way across his chest to give his other nipple the same treatment. Then she worked her way down his body, trailing kisses, licks, and nibbles in a ragged line towards his groin. She stopped just shy, her breath hot and heavy against his lower belly, its own torturous sort of pleasure.

Forever of a moment held like that, and then a surge of disappointment as Buffy pulled away. She didn’t go far, though, staying near enough to push his legs apart. There was a rustle of plastic, followed by her suddenly back in his line of sight. She had an open bottle of lube in one hand and an odd pale blue thing in the other that smelt of silicone. Looked a bit like a finger at one end, then tapered a bit before widening out into a bulb. It pinched inward after that and flared out into a disk. A round button stuck out from the center of the disk part.

“This,” she said, expression and voice solemn, “is a Tush Tickler.”

“Is it now?” Spike asked, trying not to laugh. The ridiculous name was bad enough but add that serious expression to it and it was almost impossible not to react. “Plannin’ on doing some tush tickling are we?”

“Yuh-huh.”

Then the little minx flicked her tongue out to slowly lick the thing, and the amusement was buried under a fresh surge of desire. He really didn’t know what all would set off the unease, but the blue toy was apparently perfectly acceptable. Brought to mind when he’d taught her how to use a strap-on. Nothing wrong with any of that. If it wasn’t meant to be done, why would it feel good?

 _Why would it feel good…?_ There was something to that thought, but he couldn’t focus on it. Buffy had gone from using her tongue to her fingers, coating the tickler with a thick layer of lube. She pressed the button in the base of the toy, setting it to vibrate before kneeling between his legs. It was slender and slick enough to slide right in for most of its short length. Just a bit of a pinch and a buzzing glide along sensitive tissue. A stretch at the bulby bit, and then it was settled in place, throbbing rhythmically against that spot inside of him. Oh. Oh, _god_. He moaned, head going back and eyes fluttering closed.

Buffy’s hands grabbed at his hips with bruising force as her mouth engulfed him, adding to the storm of sensation crashing through him. Too much. It was all too much, too soon with his body so newly solid. He couldn’t….

Buffy moved, letting him go so she could clamp her teeth onto the tender skin of his inner thigh. Sex and violence. Pain and pleasure. It wasn’t…. He should….

“Ru–” He bit his lip to keep from saying the word. _If it wasn’t meant to be done, why would it feel good?_

Then her teeth sank into his flesh just as her hand closed around the base of him and stroked, and he cried out in pleasure and pain and bloody adoration as his body tensed and spasmed in release.

He wasn’t sure how long he just lay there, panting and lost to sensation. He was vaguely aware of the trickle of his own blood from Buffy’s bite. Of the soft moan that escaped him as she pulled the toy out. The handcuffs came off at some point, and then Buffy was stretched out beside him, murmuring softly as she held him close.

Violence and joy. As long as the joy was there for the both of them, then it was good, wasn’t it? The idea swept through him, leaving him feeling… right, somehow. Like he’d reclaimed part of himself. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes as he turned in Buffy’s embrace and held her tight.

“We’ll rest for a bit,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “And then maybe try out the whip and nipple clamps.”

A rough laugh bubbled up out of him. “I’m game if you are, love.”

Anything she wanted. The soul had thrown him off a bit, but more than that, being trapped all ghostly with Angel had made him start to forget who he was. But she had reminded him, hadn’t she? Brawler. Poet. Love’s bitch. He was Spike. And maybe there was nothing wrong with that.


End file.
